Cry for Fate
by Jigoku no Namida
Summary: Sometimes fate isn't too kind on loving hearts. So won't you cry for us? Two loving hearts torn apart, without ever touching. *Dramione*
1. Cry for Him

**A.N. Hello to you all!**

**This is my first Dramione, so if it's OOC, I'm very sorry and I would like to hear from you what you think I should do to improve.**

**Anyway, it's bit of a real drama, which was supposed to be a one-shot, but I'm planning to write a Draco PoV as well.**

**I hope you'll like it! ^^**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or his series or any of the characters belonging to the series. All credit to JKR.**

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><p>With the Daily Prophet still clutched in her shaking hands, she dropped herself on the floor by the window, through which the owl had entered and left hardly five minutes ago.<p>

Hermione cried, for she had lost her love and, with him, her life.

Tears ran down her cheeks like rivers, while her entire being shook from head to toe. Her eyes were wide, the image of the tiny little article edged on her mind, not a detail left out or blurry and her mouth a little open. Slowly, the real meaning of what she had just read began to actually sink in.

The initial shock which clouded her mind evaporated, leaving her with an agonizingly clear mind. She wished it hadn't. She wished it had stayed with her for just another moment, a safe blanket to protect her from the stabbing reality she had to face sooner or later. The reality came too soon.

She shut her eyes quickly, hoping it would save her from the upcoming headache, the result of her mind fighting the misery her heart was drowning in. But it couldn't. Her mind couldn't rationalise this, couldn't sooth her with cold logic. This was beyond her mind. At this point all that was left for her to do was choke on the raw sorrow.

The sobs that racked through her body increased every passing minute and before she knew it, the carpet at her knees was soaked with the tears that didn't stop flowing. Vaguely, she wondered how many tears she had left to cry. She had already cried more tears than she thought she had.

She was a war-heroine after all. The losses she had had to swallow in and after the war had been so great, she thought that in those years she had cried enough for a lifetime or two. Yet it seemed time proved otherwise. He had proven her wrong.

Sitting there, just sitting there, crying all alone in this place that she called her home, she thought of him. Oh, how he had haunted her. How he haunted her still. All the nasty words he had said, all the painful sneers. And yet, because of him, the boy, the man, she had always publicly loathed changed the whole course of her life.

She could've had been happily married by now, maybe even could've had her first baby, but he had prevented her from doing so. And he didn't even know. He had never cared a thestral's backside about her. He had hated her.

And what for? For her know-it-all attitude? For her, back then, bushy hair? Although he had often insulted both her personality and her appearance, she didn't believe that's what started his detestation towards her or if it had even fuelled it at all. She knew too well what had truthfully made him hate her. Her family. Her blood. He always had always said that her blood was dirty.

"_Mudblood."_

She remembered the times she had cried over it. That word. How it had made her want to curl up in a corner and just die. How it had made her curse her own blood. How it had made her wonder, sometimes, what on Earth she had done to deserve his cruelty.

Later on, it's impact would wear off. Not because she got used to it, but because she slowly, yet surely started to understand how he had been brought up. And it had cheered her up. He never really hated her, he had just been brought up to hate her and treat her like vermin.

Still, she never had the courage to walk up to him and actually talk to him. Maybe because of him. Maybe because of his friends. Maybe because of her friends. Maybe because of her pride. Maybe because of his prejudice. Maybe a combination of all the above.

Years after Hogwarts, after the end of war, she would humourlessly laugh at how it had gone down. It was like the wizarding version of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. But in this version, Mr. Darcy did not love Elisabeth, while she did love him, even though he had hurt her pride and she had a lot of prejudices to lay against him.

She smiled through her tears. Yes, he had been a jerk. No, worse. He had been the biggest, stupidest, proudest, most prejudiced and blindest ferret of all time. And though she had had her periods in which she had hated his guts, in the end, she loved him. She had dreamt of him. Never of them being very intimate, for she couldn't even imagine it, but of him standing in front of her. Sometimes close, yet far away. And sometimes far away, yet close.

In anybody else's opinion he never did anything special in her dreams, but in Hermione's eyes, he had done the most wondrous things. He had showed her every expression on his face. Had showed her smiles and tears. Eyes full of pain, sadness, fear, loneliness, happiness, wonder, confusion and on a very rare occasion she would see love shine in his grey, nearly silver eyes. After such dreams, she would wake up to find herself blissfully happy.

What made her dreams even more wonderful to Hermione was the fact that when she talked in her dream, he would not turn away or walk off, he wouldn't even look annoyed. He would listen to her. And she would tell him hundreds of stories. About Muggles, about the stress she suffered because of her schoolwork, about Harry and the trouble she got into with him, about him, what he had done or said recently.

The sad part was that he never responded. His expression told her lots of things, but still, sometimes all she wanted him to do was say something. But he never even uttered a word. And she accepted that. She could hardly do anything about it, so there was no point in dwelling on it.

When it exactly started, the feelings, the dreams, she did not know. Somewhere along the line, he had brought her to her knees. It went gradually, that she knew. She reached the point of truly, deeply loving somewhere during fourth year.

At the Yule Ball, she had begrudgingly admitted he looked handsome and that same evening she, by coincidence, saw his face through the crowd for only a second or two. But those two seconds would forever feed her dreams, for that was the only moment in her life that she saw him smile a honest smile and laugh out in pure joy. What or who had managed to entertain him so would always be a mystery, but she didn't care about that at all.

At that moment, while honestly enjoying himself, he was the most beautiful guy Hermione had ever beheld. Perhaps that's when it really struck her. Perhaps that was the moment from which on she would love him knowingly.

The tears still didn't cease to come. Hermione felt like at total mess, but didn't give a damn.

She remembered how she tried to push it down, to pretend that the love she felt belonged to Victor Krum and, after that, to Ron. She never fully fooled her heart though. What had hurt the most about seeing Ron kiss Lavender Brown had been knowing that Ron had achieved something she couldn't even wish for.

And some years later, she still felt those feelings and every time **his** face made it to the front page of the newspaper, she would stare at it, before reading the article concerning **him** with great diligence. Ron never noticed it. He always made some rude remarks on the topic and she would reply with something even more insulting.

Married. **He** had married. That's when she decided to break up with Ron. The news of the marriage crushed her and she realised that by keeping up the relationship with Ron, she fooled both him and herself. So she went to live on her own, concentrating fully on her job at the Ministry, trying to think as less of love, of **him** as possible.

She still visited the Potters and the Weasleys often, but she never stayed too long. She felt like a stranger in those happy, loving families. It was suffocating.

And here she was, barely seven months since **he **had married, alone in an small, sober room with bookcases on every side of the room, up to the ceiling, filled with books which for once could not keep her mind of **him. **

Died.** He** had died. His own father being the main suspect. He was 'found' by his mother in his private working room. Apparently, he died reaching out for something in the fireplace, considering the way they found him: Lying on the floor, on his stomach, his right arm stretched, his right hand halfway in the fireplace.

Since his hand had some serious burns on it, they concluded the fire was still on when he tried to reach, perhaps to grasp something. They assumed, he was having hallucinations, since during the autopsy it was discovered that he has been severely Crucio'd, before finally being killed with the Avada Kedavra curse, so it would not be weird for him to have gone mad of the pain, before dying.

Hermione was still crying for the terrible fate he had met. She cried and cried for hours and after that, she would lead a half life, work herself to death during the day, cry herself at sleep at night and never marry anyone.

Only when she would sleep, would she truly feel alive, for that's when she would meet him. The man she would never have. The man she loved.** Draco Malfoy**.

But that day, with the Daily Prophet shaking in her hands, sunken to the floor, she didn't dream. She only cried.

Hermione cried, for she had lost the love and, with him, the life she never had a chance to have.

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><p><strong>A.N. What do you think? Review please!<strong>


	2. Cry for Her

**A.N. So, here's Draco's part of the story. And that's were it ends, really. No Headboy-Headgirl scenario, no marriage laws, no saving each other in the war. None of all that. **

**So sorry. I suppose most people would wish for a happy ending, but I believe that most of the time, there is no happy ending. No doubt they do exist and some people have the luck to find them, but you can hardly expect Draco Malfoy to be one of those lucky bastards, right? XD**

**And since I love Dramione, even though it's a not even one-sided love and therefore utterly hopeless, I drag Hermione down with him! =P**

**Anyway, I hope you like it and you will honour me with a comment!**

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><p>His wand was shaking heavily in his hand and his guts told him to run. But he couldn't, it was far too late to run now, even if he wanted to.<p>

They knew. They knew whom he loved.

He looked around his office, cast a quick spell or two, to ensure that he would be notified when someone tried to enter and to give himself some more time if such where the case. Not that a simple locking spell would keep them, keep HIM out, but neither would a more complex one and others which might've held them back longer took too much time to cast. And time was precious now.

Draco Malfoy was in any way aware of the fact that any minute could be his last and he was surprised to find that, even under such a threatening pressure, he managed to stay calm and collected. Maybe he wasn't such a coward after all. Or maybe the only thing that kept him together was the fact that he had something to do, before he went.

At this point, it didn't matter. Hell, if he didn't care, he couldn't imagine a creature in the world that would. His supposed to be loyal wife hadn't, upon figuring out his secret, hesitated a second to 'inform' his family and their alliances of his 'illness', his 'betrayal'.

Inform. Draco chuckled heartlessly at the word, she might as well have said that she had sold him out. Because that was practically what she had done. She would be freed from a loveless, cold marriage and she would receive a large sum to top it off! The bitch.

After all the freedom he had provided her with. She had been allowed to meet anyone she wished, buy anything she wished, for Merlin's sake, she even had been allowed to bring all the men she wanted to his house. At some point, he lost count of with how many different men she had slept since she moved in with him.

And now she would also get a fair fortune for informing the whole pureblood society of his secret, before he could taint the Malfoy-blood and all of that crap. Yes, Astoria Greengrass was one selfish little…

Never mind her. He didn't give a rat's ass about all that. Right now, he had to find the letter. The one he wrote quite some years ago. To her. The Mudblood, know-it-all, Potterfriend. Draco couldn't help but grin, remembering how he had frustrated started writing, blaming her for all the feelings she provoked from him, which he could not explain.

Years had passed and so had that frustration. He had fallen hopelessly in love with her near the end of the third year. He knew that now. But that was not were the letter ended. No, he had added some inches to the letter every now and then, spread over the years. It was, in a way, a journal.

He hadn't touched it for over half a year now. Since Astoria started living with him, he had hidden it from the world. He had had other letters too. All were directed to her, all were never actually sent. But those letters he had burned, the night after he had heard that he was to marry Astoria.

But the particular letter he kept, against his better judgement, for he knew it was doomed to be found. All because of the sentimental feelings attached to it. It was a prefect description of the development he had gone through, from schoolyear four until now. Now being six years later. He had written a few entries every year, except his fifth year at Hogwarts, when he was determined to not let her fool him.

There was one problem now, though. He had hidden the letter very well, with delusion charms and even some offensive curses included. A little tóó well. He knew he had hidden it in his private chamber. His 'working room' as he called it when someone asked something about it. However he didn't do much in this room. But it was a good hiding place and that's all he needed.

So where was that bloody letter. Of course, he had prevented the possibility of a simple 'Accio', being a rather clever guy, despite not often showing his intelligence and preferring to use a sharp tongue instead.

At the moment he cursed himself for all the precautions. Why didn't he just conceal it in a boring, dusty book, no-one would even think of touching? Why did he go as far as to temper with his own damn memories, removing half of the memory of the exact hiding place?

Then it hit him. The third drawer on the right of his desk!

All but running the two metres to his desk, he tapped on the drawer with the wand he still had held in his clenched hand. The drawer jumped open and revealed a single parchment with a rune-like script on it. Not even bothering to speak, he used a simple speechless burning spell, effectively destroying the document.

It had been his preparation if someone ever managed to know of the drawer's existence. But for all that the rest of the world knew, his desk had only four drawers, two on the left, two on the right. That much was all thanks to the delusion charms. If someone would have managed to get past all that and the curses that would've been activated by taking down the delusion charms, they would obviously just grab the seemingly only parchment in the drawer and go, suspecting to find whatever they thought they would find, if they translated the runes.

But to get the real letter you would need to destroy the bait.

And that was what Draco did. He then tapped the wooden bottom of the drawer, which evaporated, leaving only the old letter that Draco had been looking for. He took it out carefully and rolled it out his desk.

While kicking the drawer shut, he grabbed a his eagle quill and ink and started writing the last piece. He wrote it all rather hastily, for he now had very little time left. Vaguely, he wondered who would get to him first. His mother was out of the question. She loved him, he knew she did. But she did not stand a chance against his father. Perhaps Blaise or Pansy would get her before them. If he had anything to hope for, it was that.

His father would never show him any mercy. He would be tortured, humiliated and crushed by him, before his father would let comforting death take him away from his pain and misery. Maybe he would even go completely mad before dying. No, he sincerely wished for Blaise or Pansy. Blaise had always been a real friend and Pansy had always tried to be, they would make it quick and painless.

He scarcely allowed himself to hope on it though. There were tons of other Death Eaters who, just like his parents, were still on the run from the Ministry of Magic. He couldn't help but for a second stop to think that there might be others out there, who, just like him, had been receiving commands an wishes from their Death Eater-parents by owl the past few years.

There was no time to dwell on those things that soon would not be his problems anymore.

The letter was coming to an end. He had written down a lot of things he had wanted her to know, but still not all. It couldn't be helped. If this was all he could ever tell her, so be it. At least she would know. She would know how he felt.

As he began to write his conclusion of the letter, his doorknob turned into a hooter and started screaming. Someone had come and the chances were that they were already just outside the door.

He kept on writing and had the first of the last three seconds of triumph he would ever have. The second he ended his letter with the words:

'_Always yours truly,_

_Draco Malfoy_'

He dropped his expensive quill, half-ran, half-strode to the window three metres behind his desk, threw open the window and gave a whistle. His owl, Virgo, seemed to sense his urgency and appeared immediately. She sat down on the windowsill and offered him her paw.

His door started steaming and shaking and the hooter practically screamed bloody murder. Draco was about to tie the letter to her offered paw, when the door exploded and the chaos spread. For a moment Draco turned around in alarm.

There in the door opening, stood an outraged Lucius Malfoy, the hall behind him lay in total ruin and he himself had a little colour on his face from the effort that it had taken him to get to his scoundrel of a son. At this Draco felt his second second of triumph, proud to see that he had nearly beaten his father with his spells.

This second was extremely short lived, for when he turned to the window again, he noticed that Virgo had taken off, scared by the bits of wood flying around. Although he knew he could hardly blame her, Draco cursed the bird. How was he going to send that letter now?

Being the quick guy he was, Draco pulled out his wand with right hand and clutched the letter in his left hand, while fully turning around, facing his father. Swallowing all the fear he felt, he opened his mouth and spoke: "Why hello father. I didn't expect you here. Aren't you worried at all about the Ministry of Magic? You know they will send you to Azkaban as soon as they've got you."

Pointing his wand threateningly at his son, Lucius hissed: "Shut your mouth, filthy little blood traitor! You're no son of mine!" He took a second to calm himself, before menacingly continuing. "Don't worry about the Ministry of Magic. Before they get here, you're long dead." He then chuckled coldly.

"Really Draco, after all the education and effort I put into you, you still choose to die like this? For a Mudblood? For one-third of the Golden Trio at that?"

Not planning on putting up with his father's mocking, as he was a dead man anyway, Draco got pissed off. "She has more magic in her toes than you in your entire body! Incarcerous!"

Ropes appeared and attempted to tie Lucius up, but with a mere wave of his wand, they all caught fire and dissolved. He shrugged and laughed humourlessly, as if saying 'Is that all you got?'

This only angered Draco further. "Stupefy! Reducto! Obscuro! Pertificus Totalus!"

Lucius had to try a little harder this time, but still mocked his son: "You're not going to kill me with magic like that, boy!"

Draco didn't have a moment to respond though, as Lucius seemed fed up with deflecting and yelled: "Crucio!"

He didn't even feel it when he hit the ground. The pain was everywhere and each inch of his body was in equal agony. The wand slipped out of his sweaty palm, but he gripped the letter tightly. For the world, he wouldn't let go of it that easy. That was the only thought he could finish. The rest of his thoughts were only half-finished, if it were not lose words he tried to cling to.

Withering in excruciating pain on the floor of his own chamber, he thought of her. Her name kept popping up in his head and it was the only thing that convinced him that he was not totally bonkers yet.

Granger… Granger. Granger. Granger! GRANGER!

"HERMIONEEE!" This scream full of pain and desperation, it was bordering to a screech, made Lucius jump a little. Draco had no idea how much time had passed, each second could've been an eternity and vice versa, but he must have been down for a while, otherwise Lucius would be surprised. Had he been silently enduring this Hell? Or had he been sobbing and screaming? He wouldn't know.

In a moment of clarity, it dawned on him that this is what she must have felt, that time at the Malfoy Manor with Bellatrix. He could swear he heard her screams ring into his ears, but they could as well be his own.

The pain swept away the clear state of mind. He didn't think he could take anymore. He wanted to die. He wanted to fall into the soothing arms of death. No more pain. No more. Please. Let it end.

And suddenly it did.

The pain was, at least momentarily, gone. Draco opened his eyes, he didn't remember when he had shut them, and looked up at his father. He was gasping for air, but as his instincts told him to move, he tried to get up.

"Use your pathetic head and stay down." His father said icily, his mouth a straight line.

Then the cruel eyes wandered from Draco's face to his left hand. A sly smile appeared. No good.

"Well, well. What do we have here, hmm? Accio." Draco attempted to resist, but his fingers failed him and the letter flew out of his hand. It landed right in Lucius' open hand. He folded the parchment open and began to read, some parts even out loud, while being as amused as he was disgusted.

Draco tried to get it back and protested weakly. "Give it back! It's mine! I have to…" At this point he was hugging his father's knees with one arm, while reaching for the letter with the other.

"You have to what?" snapped Lucius. Looking down at his wreck of a son, Lucius' face could hardly look more disgusted. He kicked Draco off him.

"You're a pathetic swine. How can you ever have been a Malfoy? You're a disgrace."

"… Send it…" Draco continued, like he didn't hear the comments of his father. "I have to.. send it… Because… I want her… to know I… I…."

Lucius got impatient. "You WHAT?"

Draco merely smiled a broken, sad smile, but with a voice full of confidence he said: "I love her. I love Hermione Granger." This was Draco's third second of triumph. For the first and last time in his miserable life he had voiced the way he felt.

Lucius was bursting with fury. He got mad enough to forget about his magic and hit Draco right in the face.

Something trickled down Draco's face and he wasn't sure if it was blood or tears. He didn't concentrate on that though. He reached for the letter in Lucius' hand.

Lucius was beyond himself though and without a look of mercy, he lit up the fire place right behind Draco and, kicking Draco in the guts and stepping on his fingers, Lucius moved to stand half next half in front of the fireplace and as Draco turned to lay on his stomach, he had a perfect view of what his father was about to do.

"No…" "She wouldn't love you either way. Even that Mudblood is too good for you now." With that, Lucius threw the letter in the fire.

"No!" Draco yelled and crawled to the fireplace, reaching in the fire to save the letter. He didn't even feel the burns. A lone tear trickled down his cheek.

… She would never know… But at least…

"Avada Kedavra!"

They knew. They knew he loved Hermione Granger…


End file.
